


All that heals holds hope

by psychomachia



Category: XCOM 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: It doesn't matter if Bradford is making the biggest mistake of his life by dragging ADVENT's greatest weapon back to the Avenger.It's the Commander. Nothing else matters.
Relationships: John "Central" Bradford/Commander (XCOM)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	All that heals holds hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Requiem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiem/gifts).



“You know they're not happy,” Bradford said.

The light in the room was dim, flickering in and out. Shen had said something about the power stretched to its limit – trying to get another room cleared so they could set up another relay set up, but he usually left her to her own devices once she spouted her engineering jargon. All he knew was another week and maybe they'd have something.

Another week was optimistic. He'd settled for living day to day.

Anyhow, it was just as well. He didn't think bright lights and clinical settings were something to strive for.

“We lost a number of good people getting you back,” Bradford continued. “We thought we'd found you a few months ago, but they'd moved you by then. Tube was empty. And I thought--”

He swallowed, closed his eyes, remembering the empty tube, the erased machines. ADVENT had wiped their traces, the Commander gone, and all he had to show was a dead friend and a bullet to the shoulder.

“We thought you were gone.”

The figure in front of him didn't move. Didn't lift his head, didn't look at him, didn't speak.

Bradford wished he could be surprised or discouraged, but bitter resignation and disappointment was his constant companion for the last two decades.

“But then the Spokesman got us a tip. I don't know how he did it, but he found you and I knew no matter what it took, we'd get you back home.”

Bradford smiled, and if it wasn't one of complete triumph, it was something better than what he'd been feeling the past years.

It was hope.

“So welcome back, Commander,” he said. “We'll make it right. We'll show them this wasn't a mistake, that it was worth of all the pain and fighting. We'll take it all back.”

The Commander lifted his head. His eyes were cool, calculating. They looked at Bradford like he was some interesting specimen to be dissected. They looked at him like he was a problem to be solved and discarded.

The Commander looked at Bradford like he meant nothing to him at all.

“You'll regret it,” he said.

* * *

He left the Commander, carefully strapped to the bed. It hurt him more than he realized to turn his back on the man, to walk away and leave the man (still so young, like something out of his memories, but his memories never looked back at him that way. He could have taken anger, betrayal, any form of emotion.)

What he got was someone who didn't care to know him at all.)

“Is this really necessary?” he asked Tygan. “He's still recovering from the chip removal. You said yourself he'd be unsteady for a while.”

Tygan frowned. “We don't know what else was done to him.”

“We know he's not one of them,” Bradford countered. “You told me he's still human.”

“Sure,” Tygan shrugged. “Physically, I'm not finding anything besides his remarkable preservation, no doubt thanks to whatever the aliens have developed in stasis technology.”

“They kept him in cold storage when they didn't need him,” Bradford thought about it. “We know that was most of the time.” Years passed, and while Bradford was searching for the Commander, wondering if he was dead or alive, had the Commander been under his nose the whole time? One of those faceless helmeted officers, flanked by grunts and snakes?

“Yes,” Tygan agreed. “I've studied the chip. It looks like they kept him connected to their network most of the time as a sort of wetware program.”

“But they took him out.”

“From the data we've scraped off, it looks like they weren't confident that the link was solid enough for their more important missions. They took him in the field to tighten the connection, let him make adjustments on the fly.”

Bradford banged his fist on the table. “They took our Commander and made him theirs.” He could feel the blood rushing to his face. “Well, they won't win.”

Tygan's face was horribly sympathetic, and Bradford saw pity in it. “I know you value him,” he said delicately. “And I know what it's like to be on the wrong side.”

“But...”

“But they spent years on him. He was their prized project, their trophy, the man who ran their entire military operational strategies. Worst of all, he's not just an implant. He's a believer.”

Bradford released his hand, let his fingers spread out and drop to his side. “I'm not giving up on him,” he said. “And I'm not going to keep him locked up like they did, to be used as a tool or broken apart for information.”

“I know,” Tygan said, shaking his head. “Shen and I both know better than to convince you. But you've got some angry allies that might not back down.”

* * *

“Good news,” Shen said as she walked in. “You've got at least one group on your side.”

Bradford cracked his neck. “Let me guess,” he said. “The Skirmishers.”

“Obviously,” she agreed. “Betos said something about needing to accept and work with everyone who wishes to break free from ADVENT's chains.”

“She's graciously overlooking the whole 'he didn't technically leave on his own accord so much as we knocked him unconscious and carted his ass back' thing, I'm taking it.”

“Yeah,” Shen said. There was a puff of smoke from behind her as one of the couplings went out. “Damn it,” she cursed. “I told them they couldn't add in the new station in the workshop until I got this fully functional.”

Bradford chuckled. “Does anyone listen to anyone on this ship?”

“Well, with the leadership they have,” Shen said, “they kind of have a good example for ignoring common sense.”

“Do you think I'm making a mistake?” Bradford asked, leaning forward. “I know you'll be honest about it.”

Shen put down her wrench, and sighed. “Look, I'm not questioning what you saw in the Commander. My father told me stories about him. He never regretted working with him or with XCOM.”

Bradford nodded. “But let me guess. You think he's too far gone.”

Shen's lips quirked. “If I thought anyone was too far gone, would I have shoved Julian into one of my SPARKs?”

“You did it make it virtually impossible for him to betray you.”

“True,” she said. “So I guess Tygan and I just need you to know that while we have your back, we're keeping an eye on it for any knives in it too.”

“I appreciate that,” Bradford said. “But I think at this point, they're coming from all sides.”

“Yeah, about that,” Shen said. “You do realize that Volikov thinks you're making a huge mistake. He's been lobbying to have the Commander removed to a more secure location.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less from the Reapers, but they're going to get him over my dead body.” Bradford stood up. “So one for, and one against. Tie game with the deciding vote?”

* * *

Geist arrived on the Avenger two days, later, sending prickles of wariness down Bradford's spine. It was bad enough when they were his ops, he thought. The Templars? Who knew what to expect from them or what they might do?

“Bradford,” he said, his voice smooth and ingratiating. “I understand we have a dilemma.”

“Not really,” Bradford shrugged. “Not if you agree to give the Commander a chance.”

Geist laughed. “Well, that's why I'm here. I'd like to have a private conversation with the man.”

Bradford narrowed his eyes. “So you can interrogate him? Probe his mind? Don't you think he's had enough of that?”

“Relax,” Geist said. “I'm not going to dig into his brain. Who knows what sort of traps I might trip? I simply want to analyze the risk and see which one of our rabid friends are right. I'll ask him a few questions, get a feel for how dangerous he really is.”

“He won't talk to you,” Bradford said. “So I don't see what you're going to get out of it other than a cold shoulder.”

“As I said,” Geist murmured, his voice doing nothing to reassure Bradford. “It's just a little chat.”

* * *

The little chat lasted three hours.

Bradford paced back and forth. At the first hour, he did it in Engineering, listening to Shen putter away until she kicked him out, complaining that he was distracting her.

Tygan kicked him out an hour later too, much less diplomatically.

So he resorted to waiting outside his own quarters, where they had moved the Commander. The infirmary was still half-full from the last mission, exhausted and wounded soldiers recovering in their beds. He could hardly kick them all out and install the Commander, and he wasn't going to let them gawk at the man either.

So he took to sleeping in Command or anywhere he could find a spare place to nap when his body finally collapsed from the toll of everything he put upon it. He couldn't keep going this way.

But he would. He just had to wait for the Commander to come back. Then everything would be fine.

The door opened and he stopped his pacing, looking up. Geist came out. He wished he could read the look on the man's face, damnably hidden behind his helmet.

“Well?” he asked.

“Oh, he's very dangerous,” Geist practically purred. “He's definitely capable of taking at least half this ship out.”

Bradford's heart sank. “So you're siding with Volikov.”

“On the contrary,” Geist demurred. “I'll give my formal support towards keeping him as a workable asset. I'll let Betos know I agree with her that we should give you all opportunities towards reclamation.”

“But--” Bradford stammered. “You just said--”

“Why would I throw away such a valuable weapon?” Geist asked, his voice dripping with amusement. “Especially when war is coming and we need everything we can get?”

He patted Bradford on the shoulder and added, “If it's any consolation, I approve. He's a rather attractive individual, and I'm not just talking about his mind.”

Bradford watched Geist walk out the door, his mind catching up a few seconds later to--

“What?”

* * *

The screams woke him up.

At first, he wondered if they were his memories, ripped from his nightmares as he woke up, bleary from lack of sleep and too much of everything.

Then he feared that it was something worse, an infiltrator or maybe someone gone crazy over the constant stress of the missions, of the deaths, of coming back on an empty ship, five of your crewmates wounded or gone.

But the screams sounded again, and he realized that they weren't in his ears.

They were in his mind.

And he knew what voice was making them.

He ran to his quarters.

Not not his, never his.

The Commander's.

The door opened and he saw the man writhing on the sheets, his hands twisting against the straps. They pulled taut, his limbs stretching so tight against them that he thought the Commander might break a limb.

“No,” he said. “Commander, sir, stop!”

He went over the bed, to the man, the screams still in his mind, and he didn't know how the Commander was doing it, but his head pounded and the Commander was in pain, and he had to fix it, had to fix everything because it was all broken and--

Bradford fumbled with the strap, undid the Commander's arms, his legs, freed him, and he saw the bruises on his limbs, and why had he allowed them to do this to him? He was supposed to be free.

The Commander's body stilled.

His eyes opened.

And he lunged at Bradford, surprisingly strong, but then Tygan had said that atrophy wouldn't be an issue, that the suit kept him in perfect shape, that he--

Was making a huge mistake.

The Commander knocked him to the ground, and Bradford's head hit the metal with a sharp thud that sent waves of pain against it.

He knew he could call for help. Tygan might not have cameras in Bradford's quarters because Bradford needed his privacy, and he wasn't going to do anything stupid, was he, like letting the Commander go, right?

Bradford had kind of looked away at that one.

Well, hindsight was a bitch, and his head throbbed and he opened his mouth to yell and stopped.

Because if they came now, if they saw the Commander fighting him, they'd take him away.

They'd lock him up and they'd never let Bradford be alone with him again.

“It's all right, Commander,” he said. “You'll be all right.”

He raised his hand, let it touch the Commander's hair, still growing back.

“I won't let you be hurt again.”

On top of him, the Commander stopped. His weight still pressed, warm and shaking against Bradford. There was harsh breath against him, panting and a beating heart that throbbed in time with Bradford's aching head.

“Idiot,” the Commander said softly. “So very stupid.”

He let his head fall against Bradford's neck and said nothing else in the darkness.

* * *

Bradford's eyes opened blearily. One of the things he had to get used to about constantly living on the Avenger was that you were never greeted by sunlight streaming into your window to wake you up.

His head still throbbed and he really should get up to have it checked out, but he didn't dare move because the Commander was asleep on his chest.

He couldn't disturb that. Not now, not ever. If he bled out to death on the floor, so be it. At least the Commander was getting some rest.

He did wish the pounding in his ears would stop, though.

It took a moment to realize that it wasn't just in his head, but coming from the door.

He should get up, should put the Commander back in bed, should make an attempt to look official and proper and--

“Enter,” he said. If it was who he thought, they'd figure a way in.

The door opened and Tygan stepped through.

“I thought as much,” he said. “We bring a dangerously unpredictable, brainwashed individual on board, a man with extensive combat skills, might I add, and you're trying to cuddle.”

“It's not what it looks like.”

Tygan raised his eyebrow.

“Okay, it is,” Bradford conceded. “But he's doing better now.”

“Apparently.” Tygan walked over and pulled out his penlight, shining it on Bradford's head. “Well enough to try to bash your head into the floor.”

“It's fine,” Bradford said. “I had it under control.”

“The scariest part is that you actually believe that.

Together, they managed to get the Commander off of him. The man still snored softly, even when they moved him back to the bed, setting him down gently.

“You have to know that you can't keep doing this,” Tygan said, carefully securing the Commander back to the bed. “If you get too close to him--”

“That's why I have to.” Bradford looked down at the man, resisted the urge to pull the hair back from his forehead. “He has to know that I trust him.”

“Even if it costs you your life.”

“Even then.”

* * *

As much as he wanted to spend every waking moment watching over the Commander, Bradford knew he couldn't. The Resistance didn't wait for people to recover and ADVENT sure as hell wasn't going to stop their plans now.

If anything, they were ramping them up, no doubt fueled by the loss of one of their most valuable assets.

“Resistance camp getting raided,” Bradford said wearily. “Must be Friday.”

“Firebrand's already on the way,” Shen replied. “At least we have a full team.”

“Barely.” Bradford rubbed his temples. “We need more recruits. If we had the Commander doing it--”

Shen gave him a sympathetic look. “You're selling yourself short,” she said. “We'll get more people.”

“Let's hope we get some experienced ones.” Bradford pulled up the mission screen. “Or else I'm going to have to start sending out our raw recruits into the field.”

He pushed the earpiece more firmly in. “What's the status, Dallas?”

Dallas's voice crackled over the comm. “We've cleared out a few civilians. There's more trapped in a building ahead, we think. Viking's gone to scout ahead with Scythe.”

“All right,” Bradford said, “Keep me informed--”

There was a burst of gunfire, some shouting, and then a boom of something exploding.

“Report.” Bradford looked over at Shen who was already typing on the screen. “Can you see anything, Shen?”

“Too much smoke,” she said. “I'm trying to pull up another view but--”

“Savor the moment. It's looking like your last.” The voice was cool, mocking, and it echoed around the command center.

Bradford blinked. “That wasn't one of ours.”

“No,” Shen said. “No, it wasn't. But I have a better view now. Pulling it up.”

Bradford looked. And swore. “Damn it,” he said. “It's one of those things. The Chosen.”

“Great.” Shen flipped through the tabs on her screen. “I don't think anyone's been able to give us much information on them.”

“Only that somehow three of them exist and apparently now are gunning for us.”

“Well, this just went from bad to impossible,” Bradford said quietly. “Viking! Scythe! Make sure you stick together. We don't know what they're capable of, but they're likely able to pick you off easier if you split up.”

“Central,” Dallas yelled, and Bradford pulled his earpiece away, wincing. “Cypher's down. That alien tranqed her with something.”

“Get her on her feet,” Bradford said. “They get a hold of her, and they just got that much closer to finding us.”

“Nova's on her way,” Dallas said. “But we're pretty banged up here and the only person with a medkit--”

“Is the one currently knocked out,” Bradford finished. He clenched his hand, felt his headache coming back in full force. “You need to take this thing out.”

“Affirmative,” Dallas said. There was the sound of jostling, of more gunfire, some muttered cursing.

“You're going to have to do better than that.”

The voice was amused.

Bradford gripped the table, his knuckles white.

“Shit.” Dallas was panting, his breath coming ragged over the comm. “Viking ran right up to him and stabbed him in the chest. It did nothing.”

“Son of a bitch.” Bradford gritted his teeth. “There has to be--”

“There is.”

Bradford turned around.

The Commander stood there, leaning unsteadily against Tygan,who looked only moderately put out.

“This is already a bad idea,” Tygan said. “I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“Commander--” Bradford couldn't even keep his voice from shaking.

“The Hunter's vulnerable to explosions,” the Commander said. “Focus on your grenades. You have a Reaper there, too, right?”

“Yes,” Shen replied.

“Have them keep taking shots while the rest of your team uses whatever explosives they have.”

Shen looked at Bradford. “Sir?”

“Dallas,” he said into the comm. “Reaper provides covering fire. The rest of you use your grenades. Keep Nova up and moving – she'll be our best shot to take him out.”

“Affirmative,” Dallas replied again.

More gunshots, more explosions, a grunt of pain.

“Well, now,” the Hunter said, sounding less amused, “that really did sting. Tell me, did you figure out this because you're just so clever or because--”

He laughed. “Oh, did the Commander decide to take pity on you? Really, you're just delaying the inevitable for them. It's one thing to play with your prey. But at some point, you have to know that this game will get old.”

“Shut up,” Bradford said, then turned to the Commander. “Don't listen to him. He's just a sore loser.”

“On the contrary,” the Hunter said. “I'm really looking forward to this. But as a friendly bit of advice, please don't let my brother be the one to take you back. He'll be so insufferable about it.”

The comm went quiet.

“That went surprisingly well,” the Commander said. He was still leaning, unsteady in his gray sweatpants and t-shirt. “Aside from all the veiled threats.”

“Commander.” Bradford fumbled off his earpiece, ignored Firebrand's announcement of their return to base. “Are you—are you back?”

The Commander smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. “Not the way you want,” he said. “But let's just say, I'm willing to lend you a hand.

* * *

“So we're sure he's not going to betray us?”

“You'd like me to say yes, right?” Bradford said.

Tygan sighed. “I'll pretend you did.”

“Well, he is helping us out, I'll give him that.” Shen tapped a few keys, pulled up some screens. “Ever since he stopped trying to escape and actually started giving us some pointers, casualties have gone way down.” She stopped. “Not that I'm blaming you, sir, for that. You were--”

Bradford held up his hand. “You don't need to tell me that the Commander is the one that should be devising our strategies,” he said.

“And the Factions are grudgingly on board with this,” Shen added. “Even Volikov is reluctantly impressed, now that he's responsible for one of his Reapers getting broken out of captivity.”

“Tygan?”

“Physically, he's fine. I've seen no real side effects from whatever equipment they shoved into him. As for his mental condition?” Tygan shrugged. “You'd know far better than me how he's doing on that front.”

Not really, Bradford thought. The Commander's nightmares were less and he no longer woke up trying to kill Bradford, so that was a plus. On the other hand, he would still freeze in random moments, his face going blank and remote. He also refused to talk about anything more than future mission plans or Resistance strategies.

“He's fine,” Bradford said evenly. “As much as anyone tortured by ADVENT can be.”

“Point,” Tygan responded. “Well, just keep looking after him and if you need our help, just ask.”

Bradford left the Command center, walked back to his—their quarters.

“They won't ever completely trust me, you know,” the Commander said. He was sitting on one of the more comfortable chairs, flipping through a tablet. “No matter what you do, they know I didn't come here willingly. They're waiting for the day I flip on them.”

“You won't,” Bradford said. He sat down across from him. “I know you.”

“Correction,” the Commander replied. “You knew me. The person I am now? I don't even know what I'm capable of.”

“You forget something.” Bradford reached out, let his hand touch the Commander's shoulder. He didn't flinch away. “Whatever they've done to you, whatever you've been through, it doesn't change who you are deep down inside. The Commander will always be the Commander. No matter what.”

“It must be nice,” the Commander said, “to have such faith in someone.”

“It's not faith. It's the truth.” Bradford kept his grip on the Commander's shoulder, stayed still as the man's hand wandered up to touch Bradford's. “So keep fighting with me--”

“Oh, I'll go along with you,” the Commander murmured. “But you know one day our luck will run out.”

* * *

It didn't for a while.

They made it days, weeks, months, until Bradford thought, we have a real chance. We've taken out the Hunter and the Assassin. We've killed a Codex, a Gatekeeper, anything that stood in our way. We could win this.

For once, we could end it all.

And that was the day.

“Sir, a UFO is tracking our location!”

“Evasive maneuvers!” Bradford yelled, but it was too late. Even with the newly programmed coordinates, the pulse of energy struck them and they were crashing to ground, the ship sliding to a halt as the electricity fried its systems.

“Is everyone all right?” Bradford asked. Comms would still be up, thanks to the emergency power system, and some of their automated defense systems were thankfully operational. “Engineering?”

“We're all right, sir,” Shen said. “But we've got a critical system failure - the Avenger is dead in the water. I'm diverting reserve power to the scanners - and they're picking up a powerful radiation source nearby - we need to locate and destroy whatever it is that's disrupting our systems.

“Of course,” Bradford said. “Commander?” He hadn't let the man out of his sight of course, something he was deeply grateful for, since he was able to see right away that the Commander was fine, if a little shaken.

“I'm all right.” The Commander looked thoughtful. “I don't think I've ever seen this thing before. Must have been developed after you grabbed me.”

“Any recommendations for who to send out?”

“I trust you,” he said, and Bradford could see his smile even in the red glow of the lights. “I'll go along with who you pick.”

Bradford sighed, and the Commander's smile widened. “I'm not always going to do your job for you.”

That was twenty minutes ago.

Twenty minutes of thinking, well, at least, we have this in hand. They'll knock out the device, take out the troops along the way, and be back ready to board before anyone else shows up. Even if we have to send out a few reinforcements, we'll get it done.

Ten minutes of okay, so that was an unlucky break, but we can still make it back. One person down – two people – we can still ---

Five minutes of they won't make it to the ramp we have to lift off but the device is still active and if one person can take it down we can—

And now.

“I'm going out,” Bradford said calmly. “They won't be able to handle the remaining Chosen, not on their own.”

“Sir,” Tygan said. “With all due respect--”

“The Warlock wants the Commander,” Bradford said. “I won't let him have that chance and we know that if he gets this ship, that's what's going to happen.”

“Bradford.”

“Shen,” he responded quietly. “As soon as the device is disabled, lift off. No matter who's back.”

“You can't do that.”  
Bradford closed his eyes, let himself breathe and feel the Commander's presence. “Yes,” he said. “I can.”

“Well, then I won't let you.” The Commander walked over to him, grabbed his arm. “If you think you can--”

“I know I can.” Bradford calmly unpocketed the syringe, and injected the man's arm before he could resist. “It's funny. They gave me this in case I needed to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“You idiot,” the Commander said, falling to his knees. “They're going to--”

“I know,” Bradford said. “But you promise me something.” He looked at the Commander's eyes, the drug taking them over, making them grow dull and unfocused. “Promise me,” he said.

“What?”

He bent down, allowed himself one selfish desire by kissing the Commander lightly. Just a breath on his lips. “Promise me you won't go back.”

“John,” the Commander said, and then he was out.

Bradford stood up, checked his assault rifle, and let out one last deep breath.

Then he stepped outside, letting the door close behind him on the only thing that kept him going for the last twenty years.

* * *

It must have been different for the Commander, he thought, in his more lucid moments, the ones that weren't filled with drugs and pain and screaming voices in his head, some of which sounded like him. They would have tried to break him, of course, but there would have been a difference between recalibrating a weapon and just taking it apart piece by piece to see if there was anything that could be used.

With the Commander, they wanted to win.

With him, they just wanted revenge.

“You know,” he said to one of them, as they wavered in and out of his vision, “he's lost to you now. He knows what you are, what you did to him. He'll never let you twist his brain again.”

“He will,” they hissed. “He will return to us and fulfill his destiny.”

That made Bradford laugh more than anything else in these past years of hopelessness and futility. “And he called me an idiot.”

The pain increased and Bradford's world went black again.

Time came and went. Days could have been years, and Bradford didn't care because none of it mattered. The Commander was free, was safe, was leading the Resistance and they would have told him by now that Bradford's life wasn't worth exchanging for his.

Promise me, he thought. Promise me.

“Promise me.”

“No.”

Bradford's eyes opened dimly at the feeling of movement around him.

There was something vaguely purple in it, and he groaned. He'd seen these things before, flitting around his vision, talking in his head, and he closed his eyes again. Maybe this one would go away. There couldn't be any sport in a broken old man.

“John,” it said. “This would be a lot easier if you helped me out.”

“I'm not helping you scum out at all,” he managed to spit out. “I'm never going to betray him so you can just--”

He blinked. “Wait? John?” He opened his eyes again and tried to focus on the sight in front of him.

This one was different. The energy coalescing in its hand was blue, not purple, even if its shock of white hair and purple face mask was the same as the rest. And...

“It's me,” it said. “Turns out that crazy idea Tygan and Shen cooked up actually worked.”

“Commander?” He didn't dare hope he wasn't hallucinating again.

The Avatar lifted him up gently, trying to find the spots that didn't cause him pain. Which were all of them. “It looks like it's my turn to pull you out of an alien facility.”

Bradford felt himself shaking, even as the Commander shifted him to hold him more securely. “I told you--”

“I know what you said,” the Commander replied. He began walking. In the background, Bradford could hear things blowing up. Hopefully, it was a good sign. “But you're an idiot and you're wrong.”

“So are you.” Bradford murmured. “Because I don't regret it. Not for a second.”

“Neither do I. Although--”

The Commander paused thoughtfully. Bradford was drifting away into a comfortable peace in his arms, but he roused enough for that. “Yes?”

“I do regret that I won't be able to kiss you until I get out of this damn body.”


End file.
